


flicker, fade

by reddoorandlemontree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, New York City, write what you know i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-07 09:18:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12838092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddoorandlemontree/pseuds/reddoorandlemontree
Summary: a modern au in which daenerys flees her circumstances and finds herself with an increasingly intriguing new roommate





	1. Chapter 1

She reads the address on her phone then reads it again, just to make sure, before knocking on the door.

The apartment, a third floor walk-up in a little old cast-iron building, had been the only one in her price range that was near enough to the college campus and willing to take her in within the week. Like the epitome of all cliches, she'd found the listing on Craigslist. At worst, it would be a dingy, smelly hole with a rat infestation and perhaps her roommate was an ax murderer. At best, it had a clean, unoccupied bedroom and a kind roommate who wouldn't mind being patient with her as she adjusted to this new life in Morningside Heights. She doesn't have a choice but to take her chances.

The door opens to who she presumes is Jon, the name signed at the end of their chain of emails discussing the spare room's availability.

 _Oh_ , she thinks. This isn't what she expected. She's not exactly sure what her mind had imagined up for him, but it certainly wasn't this. He stands before her with a mop of black hair pulled back in a knot, doing up the front of a crisp grey button down, and full lips pouted in confusion.

She sticks her hand out before the silence gets uncomfortable, not realizing how long she'd spent admiring that pretty face of his, not to mention those arms. And his hair. Alright, the boy was attractive, there was simply no way around it. "Hi, I'm Dany."

" _You're_ Dany?"

She tries not to be offended as she says, "Yes," and awkwardly retracts her hand.

"You're a girl," he states, somewhat dumbly.

"Is... that a problem?" her eyebrows furrow and she bites her lip in a nervous frown because God, she can't lose this apartment. _Not now, please not now._

"Sorry, I just...." Jon shakes his head, as if physically dispelling whatever misunderstanding he'd had. "Come in," he says, voice softer, and reaches out to lift her bags. "Here, let me help you with that."

With a suitcase for her clothes, a duffle bag for every other belonging she could fit, and a backpack for her textbooks and laptop, Daenerys had made her way across Manhatten, hastily leaving behind the luxuries of a multi-million dollar home in the Flatiron District (though it was hardly luxurious or even home anymore) for a little "roommate wanted" listing on 113th Street. Their email conversations had entailed that it had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a distance of two-block from campus, all for an irresistible price that had made Dany cry with glee as she threw her belongings into the bags. _Finally_.

She takes a look around the living room (kitchen?), where counters, a stove, a sink, and a refrigerator line the wall to the left, while a sofa and TV are placed in front of the balcony to the right.

"This is your room," Jon says, snapping her attention back. The back wall has three door, her's being the left most.

Dany steps inside, her breath held in for some reason, and examines what's to be her new home for however long it may take to get back on her own two feet. There's a closet to the right and a window on the farther side (she snorts when she finds that the curtains pull back to reveal a brick wall barely four feet away). A queen-sized bed is set up before the dazzling view, a small desk to its side.

Dany turns to Jon to thank him, to really thank him, leaving out that he can't possibly know what this new beginning means to her, only to have him shrug and scratch behind his ear nervously.

"My brother found a place in Boston for graduate school so I though I might as well rent out the room."

Turning away, Jon points to the middle door, saying, "That's the bathroom, and my room to the right." He pauses. "Listen, I'm sorry this was so abrupt but I really have to head out, she'll be livid if I'm late." He murmurs the last part distractedly as he heads toward his room, emerging with a wallet and coat.

 _So, there's a "she"_.

"I'll explain the landlord's rules and everything later, and perhaps reintroduce myself over drinks?"

He's out the door before she can respond "yes".


	2. Chapter 2

Jon runs his hand down his face as he descends the subway stairs, the blast of hot, musty air seeming suitable for the moment.

"What the hell was that," he mumbles to himself, thinking back to the utterly blank state of his mind as he opened his door to find Dany -- Dany, who was quite the exact opposite of the image he had concocted upon receiving the email that he-- _she_ was interested in the spare room.

He knows he owes her an apology for the sloppy welcome and even sloppier departure but he can't focus on constructing one now, his mind occupied in an odd state of anxiety.

Ygritte is back from her summer traveling up North, which was originally intended as something they'd do together but a late night argument had led from one thing to another and he had found himself saying he'd had enough. She had gone off alone as he healed at home, the rapid flow of the city keeping him distracted but now it was time to confront it all.

 _Will she still be mad?_ he wonders. The origin of the fight is still lost on him, as it so often is. It usually starts with spark, something minor, and somehow the smoldering flames manage to devour them both in heated arguments across the apartment or angry calls that may have resulted in the destruction of a phone or two.

It's happening more and more often now, like they’re a pair of ticking time bombs that simply go off at the wrong times but no matter how hard he tries to quell their explosions, they seem to be inevitable.

He loves her, he truly does, and not a single one of their outbursts has the power to diminish that.

Ygritte opens her door before he has the chance to knock. She pounces on him in a hug and his arms automatically wrap around her, pulling her familiar body close. 

"I missed you," Ygritte breathes against his chest, walking backward into the apartment as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He sighs, almost in relief that they’re past their last argument. Oh, how he’s missed this, _her_. "I missed you too." Jon plants a kiss to her hair and then chuckles at the disheveled state, also takin in her baggy sweatpants and a shirt he vaguely remembers used to be his. “So much.”

She swats him away playfully, saying, "Let's see you try to look any better after an eight-hour overnight flight with a crying baby next to you."

He winces in sympathy and lies down on the couch where she joins him moments later, sleepy and missing his touch.

"I thought you said we had reservations for seven o'clock," he treads carefully.

"I lied," she says, unbothered.

"What? Why?"

"I wanted to see you as soon as I got home and I knew you wouldn't come if I simply invited you over."

"Ygritte," he sighs, sitting up as she groans at the absence of his body pressed against the back of hers, "you know that's not true."

"No?" Ygritte rubs at her forehead tiredly, tone growing harsh.

"We're already doing this, huh?" 

"Doing _what_?" Her eyebrows knit themselves together and her gazes turns intense, a look he's long since memorized

" _This_ ," he continues, regardless of the warning he recognizes, gesturing between them. "It hasn't been ten minutes since I got here and we're already mad at each other."

She rolls her eyes, which only fuels the inferno inside him more. How can she be so dismissive when he's actually trying to address the problem?

"Well then maybe you should leave, Jon," she says, voice raised in irritation. She stalks off to her bedroom, arms crossed.

He groans her name one last time before collapsing on the couch once again and closing his eyes to calm the angry heat creeping up his neck.

It’s always like this, now. They were good, they were _so_ damn good. They still are, when they can manage to not fight. He thinks back to all the nights he's spent here, and she at his apartment, how happy they had been. They'd met in their carefree youth, both college freshman. They were like a pair of magnets, at first. She used to tease him about growing up in a brownstone community in the Upper West Side because of _course_ his family was _that_ type. Teasing turned into shameless flirting, mostly on her part, which then blossomed into a relationship, though they’re not sure when, and their love was so intense so soon, it managed to fizzle out. And now he’s left trying to gather up the remains and hope they can last. _No, they can fix this. Of course they can fix this._

He gets up with a sigh and makes for her room only to find it locked. "C'mon, Ygritte, open up."

"Oh, fuck off," he hears her say on the other side.

"I wasn't _trying_ to--" he cuts himself off before his temper gets the best of him. "Will you just let me in?"

The door clicks open and once again, she's on him before he knows what's happening, except this time it's her lips devouring his, her arms twining around his neck, and her legs wrapped around his waist to pull him in. For some reason he can't fathom, he obliges, moaning into the kiss and pushing her back onto the bed as her fingers frantically work at the buttons of his shirt.

And it was always like _this_. They fail to apologize or even talk about the issue, instead choosing the easy way out and repressing their earlier conflict until it erupts again and the cycle just repeats, on and on and on. It's exhausting, really. They both stick around for the happy moments in between, though, yet fear crawls through his heart because they're becoming scarce.

\---

It's nearing nine by the time Jon gets home and he almost forgets that his new roommate has moved in, making him freeze for a second as he hears footsteps upon entering.

He makes his way to his room, pausing in her open doorway. "Hey, do you need any help?" But even as he says it, he's realizes she already has everything set up, albeit it's not a lot that she's brought with her.

He notices bottles of perfume in a little basket on the nightstand, most with only a few spritz left but he can bet each one costs more than all of his combined. Even the shoes, lined up neatly inside the closet, are all brand name. He recognized a pair of boots as Burberry, the pattern identical to a tie he received for Christmas, and the red bottomed heels he can't remember the name of but Sansa had begged for them on her birthday. He has to refrain from gasping when he spots the diploma framed above the desk, recognizing "King’s Landing Institute" written in fancy letters up top. That is one of the most prestigious (and most expensive) private schools in the country. If she has the money to attend a school like that, what the hell is this girl doing in his little two-bed-hall-kitchen walk-up?

"No, actually, I'm just about done," she says, turning around from the closet.

"Well... are you still up for those drinks?"

"Yes." Dany’s lips curl up in a smile, and he can't help but notice the way her entire face smiles with them, her eyes squinting and her nose crinkling slightly.

He gestures toward the door, returning a smile of his own, and locks it before following her down the stairs.

"It's a bit small but there's this amazing bar on Columbus that I’m sure you'll love," Jon says, once exiting the lobby.

"Hmm, what's the name?"

"Bear Island, it's one of--"

She gasps, cutting him off in her excitement. "I love that place! I know Jorah well, actually." 

"Wait, you're from here?" he asks, looking to where she's walking beside him.

"Yeah, just by Madison Square Park, actually." 

"The Flatiron District?" he asks, almost unbelieving. It was one of the most expensive parts of the city, with the types of condos and penthouses you only ever see the inside of in magazines and movies. Even the scrubby little studios sell for huge prices there.

She nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. "My family's business headquarters are on 30th and 5th so my dad wanted me and my brother close by."

Growing up in the city, albeit a quieter neighborhood up north, a mental map of Manhattan came naturally to him. 30th and 5th. That would be by the cluster of skyscrapers, one of which being the Empire State Building itself. On 30th, however, there was only one significant building: "Targaryen Enterprises."

He notices Dany freeze, a slight falter in her step, at the name. “Yes.” She says it in a whisper, like it’s a burden.

“You’re one of _those_ Targaryen?” _Oh, for fuck’s sake Jon, you’re supposed to be apologizing for earlier, not reenacting it_.

“Yes,” she says again, the same breath of a word as if saying it quietly will lessen its truth, and to lighten the mood, adds, “it’s not exactly a common last name.”

“Then shouldn’t you like… be living in a million dollar penthouse somewhere?” he laughs, holding the door to the bar open for her as they arrive at the dingy little place.

He notices her face fall and immediately wishes he could take back the words, a silent panic in his heart over the way her usual confidence dissipates and she lowers her gaze.

He’s glad to be saved by Jorah, who waves them over with a smile from the busy bar. 

Although he’s more familiar with the owner, Jeor, Dany is obviously friends with his son. “And what will the Queen be having today?” the bartender laughs, obviously an old joke Jon’s not in on.

She orders a cranberry vodka. He jots down a mental note, though he’s not sure why. 

He opts for a simple vodka soda, waving at Jeor busy by the other counter.

“I take it Drogo doesn’t know about this?” he asks, pouring the drinks without even having to look at it but he knows it will always be perfect.

Dany only gives an ambiguous hum, however, pretending to be focused on the football game happening on the little screen popped up above Jorah.

Dany. King’s Landing Institute. Targaryen Enterprises. Drogo. Everything Jon wants to figure out about this strange new roommate.

\--- 

By the end of the night, they’re stumbling up the stairs, though neither of them drunk enough to fall or make stupid decisions. He has learned she’s interested in politics, currently a sophomore at Columbia, where he is doing Pre-Law. They’re only a few months apart, turns out, but she took a year off after high school, placing him a year above her. She’s easy to talk to and he finds himself smiling often, sometimes not even noticing that he’s doing it. Despite the bumpy welcome and knowing so little about her, Jon has a feeling that they’ll get on for however long she stays.

He’s not sure what it is, perhaps the alcohol added to his bloodstream, but he notices things he didn’t notice in their rushed introduction. Her hair is so silver, he wonders if it’s natural. She swirls each sip of her drink around with her tongue for just a moment before swallowing it. Her eyes are blue, a very cool-toned blue that almost looks violet in the dim lighting. And her laugh… he doesn’t know why he feels so proud every time he manages to pull that little burst of joy from her.

As they say their goodnights, in what is now _their_ apartment, he’s really glad that if he has to get a roommate to afford the rent, it’s her. He misses Robb, though they try to talk at least once a week, and the two weeks where he was all alone in the place had been difficult, especially with Ygritte off on some glacier for the summer. Ygritte… he almost laughs out loud at the thought of her meeting Dany. She would hate her, the little rich girl who chooses to live in a tiny apartment during college, probably just for the _experience_ of it, before she one day inherits billions.

“What are you smiling at?” she asks, drawing him back. She turns away, walking to her room, as peels of her hoodie but her shirt climbs up with it, revealing an expanse of creamy skin, the clasp of a black bra, and -- is that a _hickey_? The little mark just above her right shoulder blade makes him sputter for a moment before he quickly manages an “oh, nothing” and runs off to his room, shutting the door behind him.

He can’t believe he has to remind himself that he’s 21, not 12, yet the image of the little love bite refuses to leave. How did it get _there_? That would mean she was on her stomach or bent over or --

He has to stop himself before he lets his drunken imagination get any further. Changing his mind, he makes his way to the bathroom and flips on the cold water in the shower, once again finding his thoughts regarding this new roommate all muddled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the amazing comments on the first chapter! hope you enjoy this one as well, it's definitely longer. tell me your thoughts, maybe?


	3. Chapter 3

Daenerys doesn't _mean_ to be snooping around. It's more of an instinct, than anything else, from so many years of having to observe her surroundings to learn things about people that she normally wouldn't. Or at least that's what she tells herself. It's not a convincing argument.

It just so happens that her roommate left his side of the mirror cabinet open and a box of condoms is staring back at her. She will never be able to explain why she reached for the box, let alone why she looked inside. She counts five, when the front of the box gives a count of twelve.

Seven. He's used seven from this box. She winces, trying (and failing) to ignore her brain’s shouts of _Seven! When? Woah, picture him putting one on!,_ instead gingerly placing the box back where she found it, and leaving the bathroom. 

 _He has a girlfriend!_ she scolds herself. She has no business looking through someone else’s boyfriend’s medicine cabinet, goddammit. Despite the bumpy start, she and Ygritte get on well enough, but Dany’s pretty sure that Ygritte wouldn’t hesitate in throwing a string of filthy words at her if she could read her thoughts, and perhaps get in a few hits as well. 

It has been a week since she moved in with Jon yet the time seems to have gone by in a blur. She met Ygritte late one night where the choice words of greeting had been “Who the fuck are you?”. Dany, who had barely taken off her coat at the entrance, just stared back at the unfamiliar girl who was wearing nothing but a men's shirt that barely reached mid-thigh.

Jon, equally disheveled with his messy curls, grey sweatpants, an an inside-out t-shirt, had hastily entered the room, then. 

“Oh, hi,” he’d said and Ygritte had raised her eyebrows at him, definitely getting the wrong idea. “Ygritte, this is Dany. Dany, this is Ygritte.” He almost sounded nervous as he said it, until something seemed to have clicked in the redhead's mind.

“ _Oh…_ you're Jon’s new roommate Dany!” she’d said with a smile.

Relieved, Dany had smiled back with a polite, “yes, hi! Nice to meet you!” Jon hadn’t mentioned her before but she knew there was a _she._  

They had each retreated to their respective rooms soon, with a promise of going out for breakfast but she could see Ygritte narrow her eyes at Jon as she shut his door.

She learns that Ygritte has a fiery temper and a quick wit that can either have you doubling over with laughter, or glowing red in embarrassment at her brash humor. She is easily likable, though, her colorful personality almost magnetic. 

Now, as Dany exits the bathroom, she feels like she can't make eye contact with her, flitting through the mail on the coffee table.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Ygritte reads off of an envelope. “Am I saying that right?”

Slightly taken aback from hearing her full name, Dany recovers with a nod and a “yup.” The only person who had called her by her full name was her father and occasionally Viserys. She doesn't even know what her mother had referred her as. 

“Targaryen…” she repeats, the name most-likely sounding familiar, and Dany can almost see her connecting the dots in her head. “ _You're--_ ”

“Yes.” She doesn't intend to sound rude but she  _really_ does not want to make this awkward morning even more awkward.

Daenerys sees her look to Jon with a confused tilt of her head and feels herself relax as he gives a near imperceptible shake of his head and Ygritte doesn't question further. Dany’s never spoken to Jon about her family before but he seems to understand and she's so glad for it because she can already guess what Ygritte would say.

Still sensing the need to escape, Dany grabs her bag of the floor and heads to the door, saying, “I'm meeting up with a friend for brunch so I really should get going. I’ll see you two this afternoon?”

They exchange goodbyes and as she's leaving, she hears Ygritte toss the mail back onto the table and mumble, “Daenerys Targaryen… God, even her _name_ sounds expensive.”

\---

Even though her face is hidden behind a menu, Missandei is easily spotted in the crowded little retro-themed restaurant. Her wild curls spring out in all directions in a beautiful halo of sorts, bringing a smile to Dany’s face as she sits across from her.

“You're late.”

“I am.” Dany winces but can't help the laugh that escapes her as the menu lowers and Missandei’s scrutinizes her with her glasses lowered to the bridge of her nose. At this, Missandei’s glower cracks into a smile too, and she lightly hits Dany with the menu.

They order obligatory mimosas, French toast for Daenerys, and a breakfast sandwich for Missandei, but spend most of their time taking bites out off of each other’s plates.

“Oh, I almost forgot! You moved!” Missandei squeals in the midst Dany’s story about her Law and Econ professor (“I mean, I worked _so_ hard on this  _8-page_ paper and his only comment was to change ‘less’ to ‘fewer’! Not one compliment!”)

Dany stares at her in mock hurt.

“Well he’s not incorrect, ‘fewer’ _would_ be grammatically correct in that sentence.” 

She just rolls her eyes at Missandei, ever the grammar nerd -- well she isn't majoring in Language Studies for nothing. 

“So tell me about your new place! How is it? How's your roommate?”

Dany still wishes she had left home earlier because by the time she had finally thrown all her belongings into bags, the deadline for dorming applications had been long over, and so Craiglist it was. Although she doesn’t mind Jon or their little walk-up, she can only imagine how fun it would be to live with Missandei. She isn't as outgoing, and usually has her nose in a book anyway, but Missandei has her ways. She can talk herself out of any situation, a useful skill for when Dany lived with her brother, and even uses her ability with words to get whatever she wants, like the times she would get the two of them into nightclubs despite being underage. 

“It’s not bad, not bad at all -- pretty close to campus, decent sized room and _amazing_ rent. And his name is Jon and he is… quiet.”

“Wait, it's a _he_?”

“Yes, it's a he.”

Missandei just sips her mimosa and raises her eyebrows, as if to say “continue”.

“Well… we’re roommates, what do you expect? He's friendly, not very talkative besides the night I moved in, though I'm pretty sure that was the alcohol,” she laughs. “We sometimes have meals together, but usually, I eat on the way to class. I don't know, he’s quite reserved but easy to talk to, even funny when he cracks the rare joke.”

“He seems nice,” Missandei says, and although it's suggestive, she says it softly and with a smile, differentiating it from a fun little endeavor. 

“Yeah, well, Jon’s girlfriend would probably kill me if I ever thought of him in any non-platonic way,” she laughs, inwardly cringing at the mornings events, before hastily adding, “-- not that I _ever_ would.”

Missandei, thankfully, only raises a brow before taking taking another bite of Dany’s French toast.

“Drogo was waiting for me in his car when I left my Advanced Composition yesterday.”

The fork pauses an inch away from Missandei’s mouth and she dropped her hand with a _thud_.

Daenerys kept her tone and expression as nonchalant as she could but can't held burying her face into her hands and sighing now.

“And what did he say?” Missandei asks, an almost motherly lilt to her voice. She strokes Dany’s forearm to ease her arms down.

“He wanted to know why my number hasn't been working and why I haven't been home in a week, why I've been avoiding him. Of course, I didn't tell him everything.” She brings her glass up to take a sip but sets it back down when she notices her hand shaking.

Now, it’s Missandei's turn to sigh. She has never really liked Drogo but while Dany’s dislike was overshadowed by a sense of duty and perseverance, Missandei has no such reservations. The usually quiet girl expresses her thoughts as hateful as they come but Dany's learned to make herself numb to them, numb to him. Admitting the situation to herself for what it is won't make it any more manageable, so why bother?

She expects a lecture now but it never comes, and so she adds, “He went to my old place, called my brother, and asked Barristan if he's driven me anywhere. He found my class after contacting my college advisor.”

“They're not supposed to give out information on students just like--”

“Yeah, well, rich CEO perks, I guess.” She takes a bite of the breakfast sandwich but it seems to stick to the back of her throat. “But he sounded so _worried_ , Missandei.” 

“Dany…” Missandei sighs. “You do realize how unhealthy your relationship with him was, right?”

 _Is_ , Daenerys wants to correct, but opts against it.

“But I know that, to some degree, he really does care about you.” 

Dany eyes flicker up in surprise -- did Missandei just say something good about Drogo?

“ _So…_ you do need to talk to him. I'm sure if he knows how you feel, why you got involved in the first place, how you need him to be so _you_ can take your pleasure too….”

Dany groans at that last bit, forgetting she had once told Missandei that part. Shaking her head, she clears her mind, wanting to get rid of his invisible fingers painfully gripping her hips, her waist.

Sensing the discomfort, she bites her lip and apologizes, to which Dany just shakes her head more. “No, no, you're right.”

They become silent, the noise of surrounding conversation and the clinking utensils filling pause.

Clearing her throat, Dany attempts to change the subject, saying, “How are your parents? Has their Visitor Visa file cleared?”

“Mmm!” Missandei exclaims through the food in her mouth. “Yes, they’ll be able to come this winter, I think!”

Missandei had grown up in Barbados, where her astonishing intellect had earned her a well-derseved scholarship abroad at Columbia. Though they've only known each other since the beginning of freshman year, Dany knows that their friendship is what she values most in this world, especially in moments like this where she senses the need to talk about something else too. 

\--- 

Dany arrives home almost an hour later, a slight skip to her step (she suspects the mimosas). 

She finds Jon lying on the couch, the TV was off but he was staring at it so intently. 

With the sound of the door clicking shut, he quickly sits up and turns around. Seeing it's just her, though, Jon sighs in relief and relaxing into the cushions again. “Hi.” 

“‘You okay?” she asks, dropping her bag off in her room before making her way back to the couch. Dany moves aside his legs with a nudge and settles down next to him. 

He doesn’t answer. “How was brunch?”

“It was good, I got to catch up with my friend, Missandei. It's a nice place, too, we should go, sometime.”

“Hm,” he agrees, absentmindedly.

Something is off. Jon is quiet but Jon is never distant or troubled. “What happened? Where's Ygritte?”

This makes him look up at her, only meeting her eyes for a moment before glancing away. Still, it's enough to see the pain in them. With the little business prodigy Viserys and her father have made her to be, Dany knows how to read emotions better than she would sometimes like. 

“I don't know.” His eyebrows crease and he closes his eyes. “God, that sounds horrible.” 

She's about to respond, provide whatever words of comfort and reassurance she can find, but her phone buzzes before she can open her mouth.

Drogo's name stared back at her, along with a brief, “ _I'm on my way to pick you up, what’s your new address?_ ”

 _No, no, no, not here too_ . This place is supposed to be safe and comforting and provide a new beginning. She cannot let Viserys invade this part of her life too -- she _will_ not.

“I have to go,” she says abruptly, jogging back to her room for her bag before disappearing out the door, taking the steps as fast as her feet can carry her down.

Her fingers type out a reply, mind working quickly to draw him away from the little apartment.  
“ _Meet me at the campus library?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! thank you for your support on the previous two chapters, i'm so glad some of you enjoy modern au's as much as i do. however, i do find that many tend to drag out the characters' backstories and i'm really trying to avoid that. so, if some things are unclear right now, don't worry, they'll be addressed in future chapters.
> 
> also, i know some parts are very cringey but i swear they're supposed to be!
> 
> thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

 

Jon wakes up to loud stomping from the apartment above his. His upstairs neighbor, old Walder, has decided on an early start to the Sunday so he, too, is forced to sit up, pull a hoodie, and start his day with an annoyed grumble.

Stepping out into the living room, he shuts the door behind him and glances to his right. The door to Dany’s room is wide open, showing her bed, neat and empty, as it had been last night.

She had run off in such a panic the day before, he wonders if it would be weird to call and make sure she's okay. Because conversations feel so natural with her, he has to keep reminding himself that they've only known each other for a few weeks.

Seeing her expensive taste, Jon had been reminded of Sansa and her _nice things_. He had also been so very relieved when he found that that’s where the similarities ended. His and Sansa’s relationship has definitely improved over the years but she is still the most distant of his siblings.

Adding water and ground coffee to the coffee maker, Jon hits the ‘brew’ button and leans back against the counter.

He sends a text to Ygritte, a simple “good morning,” in hopes that she’s over their little squabble.

The machine spews out the last of his coffee, he pours it into a cup (one cream, two sugars) and makes his way to the balcony. It’s raining too hard to step out but it’s a nice sight nonetheless, the water droplets hitting the glass door forming a soothing cadence. He just overlooks the passing cars, the bright red and white lights and the vibrant yellow of the cabs reflecting up at him from the wet roads.

As he broods (something Arya and Robb said he did, though he’d always deny it), he doesn’t even hear the click of the door unlocking until Dany is walking through. Drenched.

She looks… well, she looks the very paragon of a walk of shame, with her hair a dripping wet, tangled mess, lines of makeup underneath her eyes, and her clothes soaked through. She’s on the phone, eyebrows stitched together in a nervous frown.

“I stayed the night, Missandei,” she says, clearly not having noticed him in the far corner of the room.

She kicks her shoes off and drops her bag at the entrance before going to the kitchen. She holds the phone with her shoulder while using her hands to wring her hair out above the sink. Still turned away from him, she says, “I know, I _know_ …. No… I tried, but you know how Drogo is.” There’s a pause and she laughs humorlessly. “Well… is it supposed to feel like a fucking pap-smear?”

Jon almost chokes on his coffee. All the alarms are going off in his head by now, telling himself that this is definitely, _definitely_ not a conversation he should be overhearing.

Before he can walk away to his room or make a noise to alert her, she continues, clearly very frustrated. “You don’t understand, Missandei! I’ve spent _months_ behind this case, he's our most important business partner and he's petty enough to back out of the deal if I stop seeing him and Viserys…."

He can’t eavesdrop any further, it’s not fair. Her family and her past aren’t something she’s comfortable speaking about so she should know that he can hear this entirely private conversation. Not knowing how to alert her subtly, he apprehensively clears his throat, to which she visibly freezes before turning around, eyes wide.

“Missandei, I’ll call you back.” Putting the phone down, she closes her eyes for a second and bites her lip and he’s left not knowing what to do except apologize.

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to intrude or eavesdrop or anything, I was--”

“No, it--it’s fine. Can….” she pauses, taking a deep breath. Her perfect composure has faltered into a defeated slouch as a hand covers her face. “Can you pretend you didn’t hear any of that? Oh, and _please_ don’t repeat what I said to anyone. Please.”

He blinks. Is that really where her first thoughts went? “No, I would never but… Dany, I just need to make sure that this isn’t-- that this _Drogo_ isn’t--”

“Oh god, no,” she shakes her head, eyes going wide again. “No, no, everything is completely consensual, he's just… not the most considerate?”

He can tell this is painfully awkward for her, the way her posture deteriorates and her fingers fidget. She’s also visibly shaking, and he hopes it’s from the cold, wet clothes. Grabbing a towel from the pile of folded laundry yet to be put away, he throws it at her. Dany catches it and beings to dry off her face and neck.

He can also tell she knows he doesn’t believe her so she elaborates with a sigh. “Trust me, he’s good -- he does the whole flowers and chocolates thing,” she says, waving her hands about for extra effect. “But it’s complicated, Jon.”

“Yes, how _good_ of him to just let you walk home in the rain all the way from…?”

“50th Street.”

“ _50th_ \-- Dany, what if you get sick? Why didn’t you just take a taxi or the subway? You don’t even have health insurance!”

“I didn’t have any cash on me and the bank still hasn’t sent me my new card,” she says with an eye roll before adding, “but don’t worry.”

 _Don’t worry_ , how can he _not_ worry?

“Some guy from FIT took pity on me and gave a ride home, I only walked a block or two”

“Oh.”

For some reason, Dany seems to find amusement in his reaction. “ _You don’t even have health insurance!”_ she mimics with a snort.

Jon defends himself with a laugh. “Well, you don’t!”

With a scrunch of her nose, she playfully throws the towel back at him and asks if he needs to use the bathroom before she goes in to shower, warning him it’ll be a long one, to which he says, “No, go ahead.”

Jon had planned on making use of the university’s fitness center this morning, as he tries to as often as he can, but decides that the rain is enough of an excuse to postpone going. Instead, he just continues sipping his coffee, somewhat cold now, and resuming his position at the balcony. He appreciates the rain now, while it’s still enjoyable, because soon enough, it’ll just make the entire city a humid stew and leave dirty puddles on the sides of the roads. New York has its ups and downs.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been but some while later, there are three firm knocks on the door, jolting him out of his reverie.

He looks down but recognizes none of the cars parked along the street so he makes his way over to the door and pulls it open.

“Jon!”

And before he knows it, a mop of bronze hair is in his face as a woman hugs him fiercely.

“Margaery?” His brain finally catches up and he hugs back, laughing. “My God, what are you doing here?” he asks, eagerly inviting her in.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” she says, flashing him that brilliant smile. Leaving the dripping umbrella at the door, she steps in and takes off the heavy trench coat, something he can tell is worth more than his monthly salary just by the quality of the thick fabric. “Fashion week is coming up so I have a lot of meetings to attend in the city. My flight arrived at Newark this morning and, turns out you’re the closest to the tunnel so I thought I’d stop by before heading to my folks’.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. It’s been forever,” he says, trying to remember when he’d last seen her in person -- was it their high school graduation? They keep in touch often; it’s almost impossible not to because of social media, and try to text at least once a week. Still, she is busy running a company 2000-something miles away and he’s here with his demanding classes and work.

She hardly looks all that different. One would expect tired circles beneath her eyes from how much she works, or really any signs of aging at all, but all that’s changed is that her hair is longer and her clothes nicer. The signature smirk is the same as it’s always been. “You look well,” he says.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Snow,” she responds with a wink, and he chuckles. Margaery is a naturally relentless flirt, though it’s rarely serious.

Her eyes flit to the coffee machine, where there’s still a cups worth left in the decanter.

Jon suddenly remembers her love for the stuff, reminded of how Robb would often grab her a cup before school so he would have an excuse to talk to her in math, though Jon doubts he needed an excuse. So, he pours her a cup, black as she liked it, and she grins, accepting it with gratitude.

As if reading his mind, Margaery asks, “How’s Robb? He’s up in Boston, now, right?”

“Yeah, yeah… he moved over the summer. I wish he was here now, he’d be so happy to see you, Margaery.”

Jon knows they had _something_ going on throughout senior year, a close friendship that turned into more but they refused to call it _dating_. Dating requires commitment and romance, this was simply for fun. Still, Jon knew Robb better than he was aware off but his brother never did express his feeling because soon, she’d move to sunny Los Angeles and he’d stay in New York.

“He would,” Margaery finally says, the look in her infamously doe-like eyes a bit distant. “I miss it all so much… high school. I never thought I’d say that,” she laughs into her cup.

“Yeah, me too. Remember when you and Sansa TP-ed the Lannister’s yard?” They laugh at the memory and how livid Catelyn had been when she found out, deeming Margaery a bad influence on her perfect little girl. “I think that’s the most wild I’ve ever seen Sansa.”

“He had it coming,” she shrugs.

“How’s she fairing on the west coast? Is it living up to her dreams?”

“If smog and traffic was what she was looking for, then yes,” Margaery jokes. Still, takes a serious tone and says, “But she’s doing well, she’s very happy. I don’t know how I would survive without her in the same city, really.”

 _Good_ , he thinks. Sansa had always been so naive, often to her own detriment. Jon’s glad his little sister has found joy at the golden coast she used to talk about so incessantly.

Margaery opens her mouth to speak again but pauses when the bathroom door opens and Dany steps out, dressed in a t-shirt and baggy sweatpants (something he’s come to realize is a sort of at-home go-to for her), using her fingers to comb through the ends of her platinum tresses.

Margaery’s mouth remains open and her eyes flit between Dany and Jon.

Just as he’s about to introduce her, she goes, “What are you doing with Daenerys Targaryen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i planned on having this up yesterday but i had to make a few changes. it was just way too eventful to be one long ass chapter so i had to split it up and make some edits in order for it to be a good chapter on its own. still, three works in four days is not so bad, right?
> 
> as always, your comments are very much valued. thank you for being so supportive even if i am lousy at writing as often as i should, it really does mean so much.
> 
> see you soon?


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Dany turns off the shower, the bathroom is filled with enough steam to be considered a sauna. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she worries about the water bill, because that's something she has to do now, worry about _bills_ and _food_ and _insurance_. Still, she can't come to regret it. Though the rain had helped in washing off the smell of cigarette smoke and inexplicably expensive cologne, scrubbing her body clean made sure no trace of it was left behind.

She twists the handle and pushes the door open, blissfully unaware of the conversation taking place in the living room until a voice, familiar though she can't place why, says, "What are you doing with Daenerys Targaryen?"

She whips around, her fingers halting as they work at a kink in her wet hair, to see Margaery Tyrell's doe-like eyes staring back at her.

"Oh," she says dumbly. "Woah." And then, "Hi."

Awkwardly drying her hands on her sweats, she briefly looks to Jon, who has a comically confused frown on his face, and steps toward where they're seated.

She's getting up and so they come together in a hug as Dany says, "it's been so long, how are you?" and Margaery pecks her cheek, which she knows it’s probably more of a reflex than actual affection.

"I'm good, just in the city for fashion week meetings."

It doesn't go unnoticed that she doesn't ask the question back, likely out of pity so she wouldn't have to answer because _obviously_ , she can't be doing so hot of she goes from millionaire business mogul to broke college student within the time they'd last seen each other, right?

She admits to herself that financially, she is definitely at an all-time low but overall well-being? Dany's afraid that even if Margaery were to ask, she wouldn't be able to express how much happier she is.

She decides to let it slide, instead focusing on Margaery. "Fashion week? That's amazing!"

She knows Margaery, just as she knows everyone else with whom she had even the slightest business interactions, so she knows that beneath the humble shrug she gives to her compliment, there's a fierce pride. _Good_ , Dany thinks. She _should_ be proud of her achievements.

Suddenly it's as if Jon's in the room again though he never did leave. "You two know each other?"

Dany feels like she should be the one asking him that question but answers him anyway, saying, "Yeah we first met at some fundraising event in LA -- what was it? I don't even remember."

"At the Wiltern, I think. That must've been... 2 years ago? Right after high school." Margaery sits back down and slides over to let her sit as well.

Dany nods, somehow remembering the uncomfortable shoes she's worn because Viserys had gotten them for her. "You were with your grandmother. She told me to quit slouching when I'm nervous."

"Yes, well, she can be quite blunt at times."

A knowing smile flickers across Jon's lips, though she can't tell if it's because he knows Margaery's grandmother or because he has noticed her habit.

"And you were with the head of Qarth--"

"Xaro Daxos," she finished, a creepy shiver running up her spine because she can almost feel his hand against her lower back again, like it had been for most of the night as she’d tried to network like Viserys had told her. "Never did get anywhere with that deal, though I'm pretty sure he was sued for fraud a year back."

"How do you know Daenerys, Jon?"

Jon's eyesbrows are down as he looks at Dany before realizing he's been asked a question. To answer, he gestures toward her room and says, "Robb moved out, I needed to rent out the room and she found the ad."

"And what about you two," Dany asks kindly, "how did you meet Margaery?"

"Before she designed fancy clothes," Jon says with a rare smile, "Margaery was my sister's friend, who then also became my friend after helping me cheat in APUSH."

"You really should thank me for helping you get accepted into a good law program," she laughs.

It's a different side of Margaery Tyrell entirely. That weekend of back-to-back events two years ago, she'd only seen the fake smiles, scheming smirks, and smart replies, all of which would get her to the top of the fashion industry. Now, Dany's seeing the real Margaery, who's real smile is quite toothy and when she genuinely laughs, she throws her head back instead of the collected giggle she’d known.

With a silent wince, she realizes that Margaery is probably thinking the same of her.

Dany had been doing the behind-the-scenes work for her family's business since she could understand economics. Her first real venture into the field, of playing at this grand game of risk and deception, had been months before Viserys sent her to LA to represent them for the week. She always looks back at that stage of her life bitterly, regretting how she had gotten so caught up in all of it, almost losing her sense of self to gain power. And that's the only Daenerys many people, like Margaery, knew.

Lost in her thoughts, she only partly registers the other two talking about high school memories -- something about a friend being caught getting high under the football field bleachers -- until Margaery asks if he has a yearbook and Jon gets up to go get it.

"I've seen your numbers go up over the last three years and can't help but think it wasn't because of your brother," Margaery says suddenly.

Dany snorts, realizing that of course the granddaughter of a business tycoon would keep up with the trends in other companies’ stocks. "I'm sorry that you had the displeasure of meeting Viserys."

"How did you do it?"

Dany contemplates how to respond then decides to just go with the simplest answer, hoping the dry humor will cover up how miserable she truly feels about it all. "My brother taught me that men are pretty easy to control when they think with their libido and not their brains. And I know a lot of important men." She remembers the stupid tabloids she would never admit to reading publishing several stories about fashion princess Margaery Tyrell having been spotted with important figures in the industry. "I suppose you know how it all works, too."

Margaery bites her lips and shakes her head. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Dany," she says with a kind smile. "You know it took you way more than that. Even my grandmother agreed that you're some special sort of genius."

Dany is taken aback, first by her nickname, and then by what followed. _Finally_... some selfish part of her sighs with relief. All those years for doing all the work for him and Viserys had only ever complimented her ability to attract good deals, never the hours of strategizing and research that went behind them, never her intelligence, that far exceeds his own.

She's rendered speechless and Margaery reaches out a comforting hand to tuck a wet lock of silver hair behind her ear but thankfully, Jon joins them again, carrying a fat book that reads Class of 2015 on the cover.

Politely excusing herself, Dany retreats to her room, where she collapses onto the bed and is slowly lulled into a much needed nap after a night that exhausted her body and a conversation that exhausted her mind.

\---

When she wakes, Dany knows it's been a while since she fell asleep because the heavy rain has given way to a shy sunshine. The window in her room, facing a brick wall, doesn't provide much scenery but at least she can know the weather, she deduces.

Rubbing at her eyes, Dany walks out into the living room to find it empty. She has to do a double-take when she sees the clock reading 3:43, meaning she slept a whopping five hours.

Jon is not home but she gathers he's at the gym because of the pre-workout boost container on the counter.

Pathetically, Dany looks between her backpack, wherein lies a mountain of work she should be hacking away at, and the TV remote sitting so temptingly on the coffee table. In a moment of weakness, she chooses the remote, guiltily indulging in reality shows that make her feel better about her choices because they remind her that she can always be doing worse.

It's maybe on her third (or fourth) consecutive episode of Real Housewives of New York City when Jon gets back, panting because he probably ran the way home.

From her slumped position on the couch, she turns to find him shaking his head judgmentally at her choice in program so she just flips him off before settling back into the cushions.

He laughs, gulping down a bottle of water and standing behind the couch to witness the ridiculousness happening on TV.

"Give me a break," she groans, pulling the soft throw up to her chin, "I don’t think this day can get any worse. First Drogo, then the rain, and then Margaery."

"Margaery?" he asks, and she is reminded that Jon, who she is becoming so close to, still knows so little about her.

"We met when I was nineteen. I was a monster, back then, Jon," she says into the wool, uselessly hoping the muffle from the wool softens the harsh edges of the word.

He says nothing, silently encouraging her to elaborate but she just shakes her head, hoping, "you know, prep school kids," and a wave of her hands for extra effect is enough for him to drop it. However, she senses that he knows there's more to it but he leaves her be with a comforting squeeze of her shoulder.

Jon goes to shower, as he always does after these intense workout sessions, and she's forced to turn off the TV and open up her MacBook to start the class work she's been putting off.

She's still taking notes on the reading for her International Law class when Jon exits the bathroom, a goddamn sight with his wet curls and a towel wrapped around his waist, leaving his torso exposed.

He's still turned away so she doesn't get a peak at the abs that are surely there but his back muscles are on full display. She's allowed to appreciate a beautiful man, no feelings involved, right? Yeah, sure, why not? It’s harmless.

It takes Dany a minute to focus on the page again, having to read and reread the same paragraph, and she momentarily regrets picking an apartment with a male roommate, though, to be fair, she hadn't known he would look like _that_.

When Jon comes out again, it's to plop himself onto the couch adjacent to the one she’s on, putting his own copy of the International Law textbook on the coffee table like she's done with her’s, and opening his laptop to start working.

Over the course of their time together, they've naturally formed this routine of sometimes working side by side in the afternoon. With her studying politics and him law, they take most of the same classes, save two, and so they can bounce ideas off one another and discuss concepts they may not understand, which even turns into debates over who is right, every now and then.

Some hours later, Jon hears her stomach grumble loudly, interrupting his explanation of foreign affairs leading up to the Cold War.

He only laughs and goes, "Thai or Chinese?"

"Hmm... Thai."

And so he calls the Thai place down the block that she's come to love and orders their pad thai noodles, requesting they make them a bit spicy because he already knows that's how she likes them.

By the time they arrive, Dany's eyes already hurt from squinting at the tiny text so they agree to take a break instead of eating while working. They're too hungry, mouths too filled with savory sweet noodles, to speak so they eat in silence, except for the occasional "mmm" to communicate how good they are.

It's around nine when he checks his email and his eyes widen. "Oh, fuck."

"What?" she says, immersed in another reading.

"Baelish just emailed us."

Her eyes snap up at the name of their Gen Psych professor.

"The paper due Wednesday is now due tomorrow, said he wants to get the grades done in time for another project."

Dany's highlighter slips out of her hand.

He reads part of the email aloud, then. "'I apologize that this is so last minute but if you've been dividing up the work like I’ve been strongly suggesting in class, you should be fine. To get credit, it must be in my inbox by 11:59, otherwise you will receive a zero.”

"But no one divided up the work!” she exclaims, too tired to control her tone.

“It’s okay,” Jon reassures her, though he doesn’t sound so convinced himself, “we have like three hours to get it done, we got this.”

“My _ass_ ‘we got this,’ we need eight references and _at least_ 1500 words, Jon!”

Despite himself, he laughs at her little outburst. “C’mon, let’s just split up the work, I’ll find four, you find four.”

“First you cheat on APUSH in high school and now Psychology?” she asks with a playful smirk.

He leans into her, grinning, and says, “Would you like to do all eight by yourself? Because I’m completely alright with that.”

 _Touché_ , she thinks, getting to work on her half.

An hour and a half in, Dany’s eyes begin to protest, unable to look at the screen for another moment so she gets up to make herself a cup of coffee, taking the chance to stretch out her stiff limbs. Glancing over at Jon, whose bottom lip worried between his lips in concentration, she pours him a cup too, remembering his one cream, two sugars.

When she sets the cup down on the coffee table, completely ignoring the coasters that they never use, he sighs and takes a sip, saying, “Perfect. Thank you.”

Her next disruption is at 11 because when Jon stops typing and looks up. She does too, alerted by the break in their rhythm.

“I finished,” he says with a triumphant smile and the corners of her lips automatically go up to mirror it because it’s one of _those_ smiles, so rare that when she does see it, she can’t help but feel happy too. “776 words.”

And as she types her last word minutes later, she hits the period with a dramatic tap and falls back onto the sofa in a weary cheer.

They combine their work and submit it, mixing up the paragraphs and hoping the similarities go unnoticed, which is likely since they are in different classes, while bad-mouthing the professor.

They both sink into their respective sofas, pulling the throws up and taking a moment to recover. Her fingers still fidget from how frantically they'd been typing.

“I think that was the universe’s way of telling me that _yes,_ Dany _,_  this day _can_ get worse,” she says.

When Jon doesn’t respond, she thinks he might’ve fallen asleep until he opens his eyes and turns toward her. They’re both lying on their sides, the sofas positioned in an L-shape so their heads are close.

“Can I ask you something?”

 _Here it goes_ , Dany thinks. She knows that by putting off talking about her life, she’s only making him more curious and that this conversation really is inevitable, at this point.

“Go ahead,” she says, expecting him to ask why she left behind all that money or why her family isn’t supporting her now. He surprises her.

“Why are you still with Drogo?”

She’s rendered speechless for a moment, mouth opening and closing wordlessly until she clears her throat and tries to gather her thoughts. How can she say this without making herself sound like a complete maniac? Where can she even start?

So, she takes a deep breath and decides to start at the beginning.

“My dad ran the family company until he passed away when I was a senior in high school.”

His mouth falls open, probably to share condolences, but she shakes her head and continues.  
“In his last few years, he’d been very ill, only mentally. He would lose his grip on reality and lash out and make rash decisions that hurt the business. In tenth grade, I took economics in school. I learned about how it all worked and came home and learned more with my father’s advisors. Sitting with his council, I eventually started making the decisions for him.”

“Tenth grade?” He sounds almost disbelieving.

“I grew up in the world of business, I’d always known how it all worked. This was just me finally using my knowledge. And turns out I was pretty good at it. Except my father died senior year and the company fell into my older brother’s hands. Viserys is weak, too arrogant to think, too stubborn to negotiate and our trendlines declined. He felt I owed it to him to help so I took a year off after high school. I attended meetings with him, calculated his numbers, told him which moves to play and which were a lost cause.” She says the next words hoping he knows what they mean. “I… acquaintanced myself with important people for him.”

Jon seems confused at first but apprehension hits and he lifts his head off the cushions.

She swallows. “It's never gone as far as it has with Drogo, trust me. Usually, it just took a lingering look, or a handshake that was too long, a graze of my finger on an arm. Legally, Viserys was the face of the company, not me, so they couldn’t ever claim misconduct.”

Thankfully, he remains silent but she still feels unnerved by the way his eyes flit between the two of hers with… sympathy?

“You may not have heard of Drogo but you probably know Dothraki, right?”

“What-- like the gas station? With the logo with the horse?”

Dany nods, and he realizes, lips forming a quiet _Oh_.

"Viserys saw a rich CEO hesitant in brokering a deal and told me to ' _make him happy_ ,’ so I did."

"Daenerys...." he breathes, doing nothing to ease her heart pounding in her chest, reverberating to the tips of her fingers.

"I didn't mean for it to get this far, I just planned one conversation over a nice dinner to lure him into agreeing but it went from one thing to another and now he thinks we have a relationship that I'm equally invested it."

She knows that he’s trying to process all the new information in the way he’s turned over onto his back, now, and staring up at the ceiling. "But you don't have any more ties to the business. Why are you still with him?" he asks finally, voice quiet to maintain this oddly delicate atmosphere they've constructed.

Dany sighs and shrugs her shoulders because she doesn't really know the answer herself. "I'm not but there's just this connection between me and that company, Jon. Since I was fifteen, I've been working so hard to learn the ways of business and money and cost and benefit. I built it and I can't bring myself to say goodbye to Drogo because it'll all collapse."

"Let it." He has a fierce look of determination, scowling with hatred for Drogo and Viserys and Targaryen Ent. and the world and she can feel it warm her heart.

"I tried to leave him -- I left home, remember?" she says with a small smile, words slurred with sleep. “It all just keeps catching up to me. Guess I’ll just have to try harder, then.”

Despite months of Missandei trying to convince her of the same, one late-night, sleepy talk with Jon, where he's barely spoken, has convinced her to actively sever the last reins that keep her tethered to Viserys.

"What kind of brother would do that?" he asks sadly after a silence that stretched far too long.

That had always been at the back of her mind growing up, seeing how other siblings treated each other and then going home to Viserys's shrill voice screaming at her. She tried not to think about it too much, fearing it would only make her job harder. Still, she has always known.

"He's hated me for as long as I can remember. My family is old money. For decades, they'd owned this little island in the Caribbean, called Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Jon's eyebrows go up.

"They say it's named it for the obsidian that the volcano left behind before it went dormant." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "My mother wanted to spend the last couple months of her pregnancy there. Days before I was born, a terrible storm wrecked half the island, cutting off power lines and transportation."

He gasps and she knows he has guessed where this is going.

"She never made it to the hospital she was supposed to go to and had to rely on the local midwives. She lost too much blood, they didn't have the proper technology to help her."

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs, voice saturated with sorrow.

Her eyes are closed but she knows that if they weren’t, she’d see him with his brows together and deep concern in those dark, dark eyes she still hasn't figured out the color of, and a deep frown on his lips.

"Everyone has always told me that Dragonstone was Viserys's favorite places in the world as a boy. My father couldn't bear to go back after his wife died so he sold the island. Viserys gained a little sister but lost his mother and his favorite place."

"He couldn't possibly have blamed you."

She says nothing.

"Right?"

She still says nothing.

Daenerys Targaryen does not cry so why is her throat beginning to close up? Why are there tears trying to push through her shut lids?

Her heart clenches when she finally opens them to find Jon’s hand extended toward her. And when she looks in his eyes, she doesn’t find pity.

She finds admiration.

Dany adjusts the throw to take her arm out and twine her fingers into his, finding the rough callous somehow comforting as he squeezes then glides his thumb over her knuckles, back and forth.

They fall asleep, hands clasped in the space between the sofas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see! told you i'd see you soon!
> 
> i think this is record time for me, especially since this chapter is a long one at 3.7k words.
> 
> i'm trying to keep this as realistic as possible, the setting, the characters, their feelings, the pace, because a lot of aus tend to oversimplify those things. i also try to stay away from cliches because they rarely occur in real life but i just can't help myself with some of them, oops.
> 
> thank you, thank youuuuu for your amazing comments on last chapter! hope you give me your wonderful feedback on this one as well :)


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